


Good Enough Omens: Things That Happened in the Beginning After the End That Was Not Really the End

by Useless_Coffee_Lady



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, casual ineffability, fan-made sequel, ineffable husbands, lots of fluff, our own side goes on a little adventure, plus some angsty stuff in the middle part (I think), they are just so sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 01:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless_Coffee_Lady/pseuds/Useless_Coffee_Lady
Summary: A series of narratives concerning the things that happened (or to happen) after Armageddon was-not.





	Good Enough Omens: Things That Happened in the Beginning After the End That Was Not Really the End

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic and sequel to the book and TV series Good Omens. The relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is just too frigging sweet for me not to write anything about them, and the ending was pretty suggestive of a second serious or even more. I really want to see a sequel but can unfortunately not wait one minute longer, so I created my version of what happened after Armageddon-was-to-be. I do not own the book nor the TV series nor the characters, and I have no idea what Neil Gaiman’s plan for the ineffable husbands are.
> 
> But let’s just pretend this is what happens.
> 
> Please, let this be what happens XD
> 
> To my best friend Jinhan, who is sadly asexual or we would have made a pretty darn good couple :p  
And to my other best friend Haoyu, who helped me proof read and has always been the most kind and understanding human being ever to live.

In the beginning after the end that was not the end, there was light.

In fact, light has been there for a while now and has not changed much. So were most other things in the world. Because Armageddon never really happened, things just stayed the way they were, so there was no need to re-create the sun and everything else all over again.

Apparently God could create some new stuff to mark this beginning. But he didn’t. Because he likes his stuff ineffable. So that means strictly no talking unless he wants to order himself an ice cream, or unless some similar situation occurs.

Another Monday. The Universe’s favorite angel and demon were having brunch in Mayfair after a rather eventful (and successful, added per the request of a certain sun-glasses-wearing demon) date. 

They sat at a table for two next to the window facing the Berkeley Park.

Crowley had already finished his plate of full English breakfast (or at least the part Angel didn’t take away) and was now staring at his angel behind dark lenses. Aziraphale did not seem to have noticed him, as he was still too caught up enjoying the sensation of creamy scrambled eggs melting on the tip of his tongue. He was also somehow less concerned about his image today, wearing a slightly wrinkled bowtie and occasionally forgetting to dab his mouth with a napkin, as any decent angel should whenever he eats;if said angel eats at all, of course.

The world has been relatively peaceful in the past week. Armageddon was stopped - or temporarily delayed, depending on with which side of the story you would like to stand - most people were no longer busy killing each other, and one less angel and one less demon were on duty so there were less supernaturally interfered instances. 

From now on, we’ll call angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley “the couple,” because that’s what they basically are, and because saying “Aziraphale and Crowley” or “the angel and the demon” all the time just takes too much effort, really.

Anyway, back to the topic.

The couple is taking an indefinitely long vacation now after they’ve successfully scared both of their direct bosses rather severely that they’ve stopped contacting them altogether.

This method of time-off-taking is not recommended for non-supernatural couples or individuals, who may find body-swapping, imitating each other perfectly, and finding the nerve to actually do it quite challenging. Our couple wouldn’t typically have done something like this either, because:

a) they were taking time off most of the time

b) and their bosses didn’t have to know about it

c) nor about this, and so on, you get it

d) Aziraphale is not a very pro-people-or-other-beings-scaring angel

This book assumes that its readers know what happened before the story took place, and will stop ranting about it to save trees and/or fossil fuel.

The only news vital to us at the moment is that our angel and demon have been dating almost nonstop for the past seven days with only a few short breaks for Crowley to discipline some misconducting plants that have cOMPLETELY RUINED THE NIGHT for them, which doesn’t really count as news if you think predictable things like the sun is still there shouldn’t be considered news.

As the narrator narrates, the couple has smoothly transitioned from the food-consuming part of brunch to sitting by the table chatting, blushing, and chatting some more.

Some shadowy figures and some bright figures appeared in the bistro, barely noticed by human and super-human costumers alike. What happened next is so dramatic and cliché that it must be conveyed accurately as follows.

Some shadowy figures and some bright figures appeared in the bistro, barely noticed by human and super-human costumers alike. What happened next is so dramatic and cliché that it must be conveyed in the proper way as follows.

ENTER: GROUP OF ANGELS and GROUP OF DEMONS, both carrying weapons.

[The ANGELS and DEMONS exchange whispers among them.]

A 1: ’Tis time.

D 1: Once more we gather, joining arms.

D 2: O hear, ye ancient sovls! It shall be done!

A 2: A tooth for’ tooth.

D 3: An eye for’n eye. Beware,

Fight not the hand that dagger holds, c’demn not

The friend who deathly strikes, for thov hast brovght

Vpon thyself the plight so terr’ble. Indeed.

ALL: Thov hast brovght vpon thyself the plight.

Let Heaven, Hell, and all lend vs their might!

[the ANGELS and DEMONS take out AZIRAPHALE and CROWLEY with a club]

EXEUNT: ALL.

Aziraphale wakes up. It was too bright, too cold, and too empty in this room. This wasn’t his bookshop or Crowley’s apartment. Hell, he was in heaven.

The thought of what might have happened to him if last Monday if he didn’t swap body with Crowley still haunted him, and the securely fastened rope around his wrists certainly didn’t help the least bit.

“So, Aziraphale. Good morning.” The voice came from behind him.

“Gabriel.”

“Yes, it’s me. But areyouAziraphale?”

“What else could I be, you?” He tried to sound nonchalant despite the bondage.

Gabriel, the Archangel, Guardian of Truth, Chief of the Angelic Guards, Spiritual Manifestation of Fake Smile, Devine Messenger, Name-Giver of the Messiah, had walked up to him now. In a stern face.

Things were getting serious. Perhaps this isn’t just another meeting where everyone gets tied up after all.

Aziraphale imagined that must have been what Crowley had to see before he fell. The smile suited him better, really, fake or not, now he just looked the kind primary school principle who cancels snack breaks and keeps handing out detention notes.

“I have reliable intelligence,” hissed Archfuckingangel Gabriel, “proving that you have been fraternizing with the enemy.”

If angels had alternative forms they could take, this one would look exactly like that judge from the Reign of Terror. “I sentence you to death,” he’d say, after briefly skimming the first few lines of the police report, “because you’ve made yourself an enemy of the People by committing unforgivable crimesagainst the revolution.” He’d say that at every trial he held and represent every single good citizen of the republic every time he hit his gavel on the sound block. The crowd would roar, and the prisoner would be dragged out by guards, trembling, and sometimes worse. Who’s next?Someone would ask. We’ve run out ofthem. One would reply. Maybe next time they’d improvise and randomly select a People’s Enemyfrom the crowd right there and then. That would save a lot of effort.

At the moment there were no others in that particular room in heaven except Aziraphale and Gabriel, whose face is so close to him that Aziraphale was certain the Archfuckingangel was going to either kiss him or punch him square in the face.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut.

But the blow didn’t come, nor did the kiss.

So far Crowley’s trial has been going on in a similar fashion, give or take a few punches here and there.

The author also wishes it was Crowley who was doing the punching and Hastur receiving the blows. Sadly it was the other way around. Crowley has been hurt rather badly in some places by now. It’s going to leave bruises, if he could live long enough for the bruises to physically form, of course.

Aziraphale wasn’t ready to die.

Just a few humanhours ago he had gotten to know Crowley’s body. First his cheek, then lip, then neck, then more, with all his senses dipped in pleasure. Slowly. Softly. Sensually.

A bit over a decade ago he’d had his first encounter with a precious baby boy. He was there to oversee, to protect, to nurture, to love.

A hundred years ago he had seen the end of a Great War. He saw how Dawn kissed the blood-red poppy petals through the lingering mist, and how the world woke up to it in doubt and in hope.

He’d seen the heyday of Rome, of Tang, and of many more, with aroma-filled days and poetry-bedazzled nights. He’d seen animals hopping around in the Garden, curious and lively. And when it all began he’d seen light penetrate and fill the world, announcing the wonder that was to follow.

He had loved every second of the past.

He wasn’t ready. He wanted to see more, feel more.

There isn’t exactly a bad thing right now, but the good thing is that both he and Crowley didn’t need to die after all. Their bosses were just pretty mad at them for ruining their plan and outwitting them, so they decided to send them a message about it each in their own way before firing them from their positions.

So let’s just count as their respective bosses yell at them. One Armageddon. Two Armageddon. Three Armageddon. Aaaand just a bit longer. Now.

The couple, still in shock and not even slightly recovered from fear, are dumped on a freshly mowed lawn in Hyde Park. Their jackets are ruined.

“I’m… sacked, I think.” The ex-angel murmured as he struggled to sit up.

“Me too,” replied the ex-demon, “what does that even mean?”

“I dunno.”

“What should we do?”

“Dunno.”

“…"

Crowley stood up (and ouch that hurt) and helped Aziraphale to his feet.

“Well, I guess my apartment is ruined by Hastur, so I don’t have a place to stay anymore.”

“Is that a temptation for me to move in with me?” Aziraphale was amused.

“Guess so - see you in the bookstore in a bit!” Crowley drifted off in the Bentley.

Minutes later a car filled with plants on the passenger seat, floor, back trunk, and even in a tight spot in the engines zigzagged down the road and pulled to a stop at A. Z. Fell & Co., attracting quite some attention. Among those plants, a pair of dark glasses shifted and squeezed out of the driver’s seat. You can see there’s a face and even a body attached to it, if you look closely.

The figure stepped out, told the plants to behave, and hurried into the bookstore, which promptly closed for the night at an unusual time of 11 AM.


End file.
